


Shortcomings of Secondhand Furniture

by kingbooooo



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: A lot of handwavy science, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boris is good with his hands, Deeply Unscientific Hypotheses, Extremely Meta Discussion of Alternate Universes in an AU fic, Fix-It, In more ways than one, M/M, Oh No It Snowed Guess You'll Have to Stay the Night, PS Smoking Is Bad For You, Saying I love you using overwrought metaphors about science, Valery Gets All His Furniture Secondhand Prove Me Wrong, Valery Legasov's Many Freckles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 06:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20925326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingbooooo/pseuds/kingbooooo
Summary: “Had to be cheap, Valera?”“I prefer thrifty,” Valery huffed.“Explains your suits.”  Boris looked up, smiling so Valery would know it was in jest.- - -Valery, having survived Chernobyl and fled a crumbling USSR, is content to live out his days quietly and anonymously until an old friend finds him, forcing him to contemplate how they both lived through it.  Boris searches for meaning beyond Valery’s abysmal taste in furniture.





	Shortcomings of Secondhand Furniture

“Worthless lighter,” Valery muttered, rolling the spark wheel under his thumb repeatedly. He could hear the click, but it wasn’t catching, shaking to confirm there was fluid within. Broken, of course.

He sat back, putting one foot on the lower step of his front porch. Valery took the cigarette out of his mouth, studying it. He shouldn’t even be here, really. _Maybe I should quit._ Continuing to smoke seemed to be spitting in the eye of whatever had spared him.

“Careful,” a familiar voice said. “Those things will kill you.”

Valery looked up, barely believe what, no, who he saw standing on the sidewalk.

“Boris! This cannot be!” He stood up, the lighter and cigarette forgotten, along with his own sense of decorum, striding down the last steps towards Boris, wrapping his arms around his large, solid frame. Valery felt Boris tense, just for a moment, before strong arms encircled him as well. If he could have spent the rest of the late summer evening holding Boris, he would have, but, reluctantly, he let go, mindful of what was proper.

“Not so tight, I’m still human,” Boris said.

Valery laughed.

“Something funny?” Boris’ tone was severe, but his eyes were, was that merriment?

“No, no.” Valery stood back, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck, a twinge in his stomach. Surprise at seeing Boris, naturally. “My God, how are you here? How are you alive?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Valery beckoned him in. “Can you stay?”

The corner of Boris’ mouth twitched up. “What, you thought I put all my efforts into tracking you down just to comment on your cigarette usage and leave?”

Valery smiled back, opening the door to the tiny duplex, welcoming Boris inside.

“You haven’t answered my question.” Valery opened his fridge, frowning. “I wasn’t expecting company.” He looked over his shoulder at Boris, who shrugged.

“Doctors don’t know how or why. Everything should be falling apart and it’s not. I stopped coughing up blood, and, some…miracle, I don’t know, the X-ray came back clear.”

Valery found a bottle of vodka, holding it up.

“My hair grew back in.” Valery ran a hand through it.

“So it did.” Boris took a glass. “Aren’t you having any?”

Valery smiled gently, sinking into the chair across the dining table from Boris. “Gave it up. Mostly.”

“But not smoking?”

It was Valery’s turn to shrug.

“I’m entitled to my vices, Boris. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

\- - -

Valery wasn’t much of a cook, but he tried his best anyway, one dinner turning into two, three, then a standing weekly dinner date, the food simple and filling. Boris never had any comments, merely cleaning his plate and going back for seconds.

Boris was living a town over, both of them having fled the Soviet Union in its last days, the bureaucracy crumbling almost entirely. He’d been able to draw a small pension before the fall, had a miniscule inheritance, living modestly and quietly.

“I’m teaching again,” Valery told him. “Doesn’t pay much, but nobody asks many questions about an Ivan Petrov teaching chemistry and introductory physics. Any inquiries about what it was like living behind the Iron Curtain, and I just tell them how much I enjoy the variety at the grocery store.”

Boris nodded knowingly. He didn’t get many questions, either, silencing them with a glare.

“How are you spending your days, Boris?”

Boris held up a book. “All the things I never got a chance to do. At least I have the time to read about them.” He paused, looking around the room. Valery wasn’t dirty, but he was a bit of a clutterbug, the apartment a collection of mismatched furniture and books. A stack of old newspapers sat in the corner, next to a large, striped grey cat. 

“Are you teaching in Russian?” Boris asked.

“No,” Valery replied. “My German is serviceable enough.”

“I thought you didn’t-”

Valery gave a clever smile. “Yes. I lied. Have I shocked you, Boris? I also speak a bit of Polish and my Latin is rusty but manageable.”

Boris shook his head, chuckling. Seemed Valery was capable of both deception and surprise. Fascinating.

“It’s an easy life,” Valery continued. “Boring. But I can get used to boring. Chernobyl was…” he paused, shaking his head, a flash of sadness flickering briefly, “too much, far too much. Too horrific. Quiet and calm, that’s what I need. No more yelling at party men who won’t listen.”

“I listened,” Boris said.

“Only after I yelled.”

How he’d missed Valery.

“Same time next week, Professor Petrov?”

\- - -

Each week, Boris would arrive at seven, bringing wine, for himself, Valery having half a glass, or a book he’d been reading and wanted Valery’s opinion on. One time he brought a toy for Valery’s cat, a crinkly ball with a bell inside. Valery didn’t have the heart to tell Boris that he’d hid it after Petya kept him up late one night, batting it across the hardwood floor well into the early morning.

Boris, taciturn, always a bit tense. The secret, Valery discovered, was waiting until halfway through the meal, food and a little wine loosening his tongue. If the conversation lulled at all, Valery could simply bring up Boris’ time as a solider. He found he didn’t mind if Boris told the same story again.

“Still have the scar, right here.” Boris pointed to his chest.

_I wouldn’t mind seeing that,_ Valery thought, his eyes focused intently on the floor.

“Hm. Well.” Boris coughed. “Perhaps in the summer if we go out to a lake and I can find some swim trunks.”

Valery felt his face flush horribly. He’d…he’d said it aloud. His hands, he needed to be doing something, finding the pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and lighting it. He glanced up, his ears now traitorously red. Boris was smiling, shaking his head gently. 

“Have I told you about the first winter I served?” he asked, Valery silently thanking him for changing the subject while cursing him for the image now flitting through his mind. Boris in swim trunks, his impressive form on display. Boris diving into a lake, splashing Valery from the water. Boris reaching up and dragging him in, laughing, the water making his silver hair spiky and dark.

“Tell me again,” Valery said, lighting his cigarette and leaning back into his chair, warmth spreading all over his body as Boris began to speak.

\- - -

Valery looked tired when he opened the door. They had both been so tired in Pripyat, so goddamned tired, kept upright by coffee and smokes in the morning, finding erratic sleep at night, aided by alcohol. Boris had remembered Valery as all rumpled suits and reddened eyes and nervous, fitful energy.

Now…now he was something else. Relaxed, no. Boris guess Valery had never and would never fully unclench from that position of safety, a constant monitoring of all possible outcomes as a way to safeguard himself from danger. But he was calmer. Laughed more. Valery was a singularly solemn man. He’d probably never made a joke in his life. Not that Boris was a particularly funny man, but he had his moments, and to get Valery to smile or laugh, well, that was a good evening indeed.

But here was Valery, tired. Tired and frustrated. He’d gotten a tv, he explained. Secondhand, and it didn’t work very well. He’d taken the back apart, determined to fix it.

“Let me,” Boris said, sighing. Man’s reach should exceed his grasp, but as far as repairs of a practical nature, Valery’s reach was very far indeed. He didn’t even have the right tools.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Boris promised, returning with a tool chest, rolling up his sleeves while Valery hovered nearby.

“Had to be cheap, Valera?”

“I prefer thrifty,” Valery huffed.

“Explains your suits.” Boris looked up, smiling so Valery would know it was in jest. The scientist, it would be too easy to bruise his feelings, something Boris had no desire to do. He did note how Valery’s eyes fixed on his forearms as he worked. Not that he minded that either. In the early mornings, after he’d returned to his flat, his mind, overtaxed, would slip the bonds of his inhibitions and wander to unusual places. Soft, sun-starved skin, freckles, reddish blond hair, eyes clenched shut.

Valery. Only Valery.

\- - -

“Why science?” Boris had asked, pushing his plate away. Boris’ face, so stern and hard, looked, well, on anyone else Valery would have ascribed it to gentleness. It was such a strange look, not unwelcome. Valery felt his chest tighten slightly.

“Science is…it’s devoid of deception. Science can’t lie. People, people lie, people fudge, people deceive. Data can’t.” He paused, inspecting his fingers. “Data can’t hurt, it can’t betray you. It’s information. Sometimes difficult, painful information. But it doesn’t act on interests.”

Boris sat back, the chair creaking slightly.

“Hm. Science can’t hurt you. But people can,” Boris reflected back. “People have hurt you, Valery?”

Valery waved a hand. “People hurt people. It’s our nature, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong person.”

“Am I? You, your career, you know how, how to make other people, er. Do what you want them to do. So you, maybe…” Valery trailed off. His stupid tongue, stumbling over itself, his stupid slow brain.

“Are you asking if I hurt people? If I have?” 

Valery couldn’t look him in the eye.

“No-no, well, yes, in that you would have the capacity, you know how. How to. Christ. I don’t know what I mean. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to insult you, Boris.”

Boris cleared his throat.

“Yes, Valery, I have hurt people. I was a soldier. I fought. And then, when I was in the party, I learned very well how to get people to do what I wanted. Sometimes with the carrot, sometimes the stick.”

The air in the kitchen had grown near stifling. _God, so stupid, Valery._ This was why he liked science and not people. Science rewarded patience and labor, encouraged curiosity. It was difficult, but goddammit, it wasn’t complicated the way people were. The way Boris was.

“I am…sorry,” Boris said quietly, standing, “if that upsets you. I know the nature of my work was unpleasant to you. And I am sorry if…no, that’s not an apology. I’m sorry if what I did, if that hurt you, trying to get you do to what I wanted.” His voice was halting, stilted, as though Boris’ mouth was unused to speaking this much or saying those words. 

Valery looked up. 

Boris gave a slight shrug, his eyes dark and downcast, Valery unable to say anything, his tongue stuck fast to the roof of his mouth. If he dared open his mouth to speak, something bad would happen, something very bad, as though this, God, this wasn’t bad enough. Sliding the chair back in, Boris turned, walking out towards the door.

Valery turned to watch him go. He reached out a hand towards the figure at the door as though he could draw him back by some invisible string, letting his hand fall when it didn’t happen. He turned to his hands, those useless damned things.

“Thank you, Boris,” he said. The only thing he could say.

Boris turned, giving the barest of nods before walking out, the door closing behind him.

\- - -

He’d come back the following week, and they’d both pretended that conversation had never happened, sticking to lighter topics generally, until one evening Valery posed a new question.

“Boris, are you familiar with the idea of multiple universes?”

Boris looked over, the expression on his face one that made Valery smile slightly, not that it was his intent, although he did like making Valery smile.

“Clearly not, Valery.”

“I’ve been thinking. About how, why we’re here, and not dead or dying in some hospice, bleeding out of every orifice. There’s a concept in physics. It’s a little, well. It’s all theoretical.”

“So it’s made up.”

Valery frowned.

“That’s not what theoretical physics means.”

“Sure sounds like it.” Valery made it much too simple for Boris to wind him up.

A touch of frustration edged into his voice. “Scientific theory means something different than,” Valery circled the air with one hand, clearly thinking how to explain it. “Anyway. That’s not the point. The basic idea is that there isn’t one universe, but many, many universes. Every time anyone, any time, hm.”

Boris could see the gears churning, Valery trying to figure out how to uncomplicate things for him. It was sweet, really.

“Say you’re at a traffic light. And you could go left or right. You turn right because, I don’t know, the store is to the right.”

Boris nodded.

“Well, the minute you make that decision, the universe splits. Because there’s also now a universe where you turned left, because left would take you home.”

“What if I went straight?” Boris asked.

Valery nodded, smiling.

“That universe exists too. There’s a universe where you drove to work that day. One where you walked. One where you slept in and ran late.” He held up a hand. “I know, the idea of you running late to anything is astounding even to me. One where you had breakfast. One where you just had coffee.”

“That’s a lot of universes.”

“Not just for you. For everyone. There’s infinite universes.”

Boris sat back. 

“Where are all these other universes? Do you know? Does anyone?”

“Well, no. Some people think they’re all kind of layered on top of each other. But it’s speculative. There’s no proof.” He looked mildly defeated.

It was a lot to consider. Something for him to think about one night when he couldn’t sleep.

“Is this what you’re teaching your students? Valery, it’s…fantastical.”

“No, no. What I teach is much simpler.” Valery leaned forward onto his elbows, lighting a cigarette. Boris pointed at it, Valery pulling out an extra and holding it up for him before striking a second match. 

“So what’s the point? Of all this, of upending my very sure sense of my place in the world.” He leaned over, lighting the cigarette from Valery’s match.

Valery took a long draw. “It’s…it’s an explanation. There’s a universe, several, most, I’d wager, where we died, of course. Ones where one of us lived and the other didn’t. And then there’s this one.” He looked up, his eyes bright. The riddle had been solved, or at least Valery thought so.

Boris made a noise of discontent. This was making his head hurt. 

“But our illnesses…radiation doesn’t make choices. Neither do cancer cells.”

“Maybe they do. Maybe they don’t. Maybe it was one of our choices, or someone else’s, that made our exposure less, or any number of things.” Valery smiled that shy smile and shrugged.

In another universe, maybe one right next to theirs, that Boris, different universe Boris would stand, pluck those horrid glasses off with one hand and crush out the cigarette with the other. Take Valery in his arms. Carry him to the couch, reach into his trousers and fumble around for Valery’s cock. That Boris, maybe he’d bring Valery off with his hand. Maybe his mouth, not satisfied until he’d come, and then he’d push Valery’s hands against him, watch those sure fingers on his prick, open Valery’s legs, and then-

“Does that mean that there’s a universe where I threw you out of the helicopter?” Boris said. He wasn’t sure if he meant it as a joke.

Valery shrugged again, although a bit of unease flushed across his eyes, the smoke curling up towards the dim overhead light. “Probably. Probably more than one. It’s an infinite number of universes, after all.”

Mercifully, the conversation turned to something less knotty, although the dull headache stayed. Boris could not let it go, though.

“I am not a good person, not always,” he said as he collected his jacket. “But…I think there are no universes where I’d’ve thrown you out, Valera.”

Valery’s eyes. There was an understanding there.

Maybe this universe had some surprises as well.

\- - -

Valery had three glasses of wine, more than he’d had in months. Boris had gotten the tv to work and there was an old movie on, something in black and white. They’d sat on Valery’s couch, ancient and sagging in the middle, the springs protesting every small movement, Petya perched on one of the armrests like a small furry statue.

He’d pretended not to notice when Boris stretched and put his arm along the back of the couch, resting his fingers at the edge of Valery’s shoulder. God, had that worked on anyone ever? Well, it had worked on Valery. Boris, for his part, had pretended not to notice when Valery curled into him, yawning.

Halfway through the movie, he’d dozed off, waking curled on the couch. Boris was gone, but he’d tucked a blanket around Valery. A glass of water sat on the table, Petya eyeing it, along with a note.

_You must replace this couch, it’s given me a terrible backache._  
_Sleep well._  
_-B_

Valery smiled at the note. He was fairly certain he was in rare company of those who saw this side of Boris.

One evening, it began to snow. Valery was delighted, Boris less so, grumbling and frowning.

“You act as though you’ve never seen snow,” he muttered, standing to find his jacket. “Roads are going to be terrible.”

“I think it’s pretty,” Valery said quietly. “And…well, you could stay. I’ll take the couch. You can have my bed. You’ll have to share it with Petya.” Petya looked up, blinking and meowing at Boris.

“I’ve had worse bedfellows,” Boris said, turning to Valery. He squinted, an idea flitting across his face. “Would you want me to stay?”

Valery nearly fell right over, steadying himself on the kitchen counter.

“No. I, ah, I just, if getting home would be difficult. We could have another drink. You can tell me what you think of some other scientific theory. Erm. Black holes.”

If Valery weren’t so damned nearsighted, he might have been able to read that shift in Boris’ eyes. He certainly could not see it from the angle he was at now, staring at his shoes, his face shamefully red. The wine. He could blame the wine.

“Would you like that?” Boris repeated.

_Of course I would! Stay, stay for dessert, stay all night, stay until morning-_

“Doesn’t matter what I want.” Valery waved a hand in front of him, turning to find his blessed cigarettes. It would give his hands something to do.

“It does!” Boris was closing in on him, Valery’s head jerking up in surprise. “Tell me, Valery, what do you want?” He’d backed Valery up to the wall, leaning in and resting his weight on one hand. Had Boris intended his tone to be so sharp?

“Boris, where is this coming from?” Valery was surprised. This was not the Boris he was used to.

“Christ, could you give me a straight answer?” he snapped in response.

Anger flared in Valery, one hand curling into a fist.

“No.” He poked a finger at Boris, who at least had the decency to shift back slightly. “No. You don’t get to bully me, Boris, demanding things of me. What does it matter?”

“It matters,” Boris ducked his head, “because we’re both still alive, and that must mean something, something other than your wild theories about an infinite number of universes where every choice you make creates more and more worlds. That’s ludicrous. This universe. This is where we are. And we’re here. Why? Why, Valera?” He looked up, his eyes wide, his tone one of defeat and exasperation.

The tide of Valery’s indignation receded. Boris’ life, he needed it to have meaning, after a career in the party, only to see that purpose falter and crumble under its own weight, and then this, this marvel of them both here, at the same time.

“There is no why. What matters is that we are here, us. Isn’t that enough?”

Boris looked at him searchingly, as though Valery had given him some kind of ultimatum. Or maybe he finally understood what Valery had always known. The universe didn’t play favorites. There was no grand predetermined destiny. People lived. They died. They tried to make sense of it, the living and the dying, but in the end, it was all chance. Eking out meaning in this world was a task for others, and Valery had had quite enough of trying to riddle out a reason for it.

He’d also had quite enough of pretending, this play-acting they were doing.

“What I want,” he said slowly, “is quite simple. And I believe you already know.”

Boris’ expression hadn’t changed much, his mouth closing, eyebrows pinched.

Nothing else to be done, really.

Valery put one hand on Boris’ chest, leaning in to kiss him, awkwardly and quickly. He got mostly the corner of Boris’ mouth.

“Oh,” said Boris.

Valery ducked back, shrinking away until Boris’ free hand came up to the wall, bracketing Valery in. He looked up again. Maybe Valery had miscalculated. Was this, was Boris going to thrash him? Boris made no move to do so.

In for a penny was the expression he’d heard.

Valery leaned up and kissed Boris again, the angle difficult. Boris had the decency to tilt his head slightly this time.

“Boris, sit down, it’s very difficult to kiss you from this angle.” He either hadn’t heard or was ignoring Valery. Maybe he was in shock. “Or you could go. If you hurry, you won’t get stuck in the snow.”

Boris smirked, hauling Valery over to the couch, that awful sagging nightmare of upholstery and rusty metal, Valery somehow ending up across his lap.

“You think you get to tell me what to do, Valery?” Boris’ voice was low, measured. Valery would say it was dangerous, if Boris didn’t have an arm around Valery’s waist.

“All right, all right. Can I-”

He was cut off as Boris took Valery’s face in his hands and kissed him roughly. Perhaps it had been awhile, or maybe Boris was aggressive in all things.

“Slow down,” Valery muttered.

“Why?”

“Because it feels like you’re trying to devour me.”

“And what if I am, Valera?”

Valery smiled. It was lovely to feel desired. If Boris kept this up, why, he’d let him do all manner of things to him. In his trousers, his cock stirred.

“We have nowhere to be,” he said quietly, his hands fussing at Boris’ shirt buttons, not moving to open them, simply focusing his attentions on them, small, plastic, the thread not quite matching. To look at Boris was to be entirely lost, frozen in place by those frightfully blue eyes. “No wars, no bureaucracy, no reactors.”

“Never would have pictured you as a poet.”

Valery snorted. “I nearly failed composition in school.” He kissed Boris again, Boris, who was so happy to lead, content to follow him, Valery’s hands gripping Boris’ shirtfront. This time, their lips fit together. Not perfectly, but better, Boris’ arms about him, his head spinning at the idea, the very idea of kissing Boris Shcherbina, big strong Boris, his firm lips on Valery’s, slowly working him open.

“I want it to be good,” Valery mumbled. He could say these things to Boris if he focused elsewhere. This time it was Boris’ collar and the blush creeping up his neck. “For you.”

Boris relaxed into the couch, the entire contraption squeaking loudly. “And what about for you? Don’t you want that? Or do you just assume that I would be a selfish lover? Valera, I have so much to teach you.”

Valery’s eyes flitted up to Boris.

“Show me.”

\- - -

The scientist was nothing but coiled energy as Boris pushed his hands under Valery’s sweater, stopping when he noticed Valery tense.

“What is it?”

“I…” Valery looked away, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“Mmm. Are you afraid I won’t like what I see? Do you think I would overwhelm you?”

The younger man nodded.

Boris smiled again. Of course Valery was shy, spending a lifetime in the safety of books and numbers and knowledge, his mind going and going and going, assuming, wrongly, that Boris would take what he needed and leave.

A touch of shame settled onto Boris. He had been a selfish lover at times, leaving partners unfulfilled, rushing past the niceties. Sometimes that was what they both wanted, something fast and animalistic, and at some point, if his knees were up for it, God willing, he’d do that to Valery. But here, patience. Patience and his words, something he was not so good at.

“You remember that little trailer? We had those hideous uniforms. You insisted on that stupid hat.” Valery’s back muscles, warm under Boris’ fingers, relaxed slightly as he traced a small pattern across that soft skin. “I could barely contain myself some days, Valery, with you bent over the table, that little bit of skin I could see when your shirt rode up, how pretty and pale you’d look if I stripped you bare and pinned you up to the table. Take that shirt and wrap it around your wrists, watch you struggle.”

Valery was trembling.

“Or maybe,” he dropped his voice lower, “I’d go slowly, until you begged, until you told me exactly what you wanted me to do to you.” Boris looked down. Valery’s poor trousers were not built for the abuse his cock was wreaking on them, the fabric puckering under the strain. Boris slid his hands up again.

“Can I look at you?” His tone softened. “I don’t know that you’ll care for how I’ll look either, but let me look at you.” He waited until Valery nodded again.

The sweater was off, Valery readjusting his glasses, those ugly dorky things. His hair was tufting up from the sweater and static. Boris wanted to laugh, but restrained himself. To do so would be to send Valery grabbing for his sweater and fleeing to the bedroom, alone.

He traced a finger along the collar of Valery’s undershirt, eyes roving over all the bare skin he could see, pale as milk, freckles across the shoulders, down his arms. How far down did those freckles go? Boris decided he would find out at some point, hold Valery down and examine him, inch by inch, and find every single one. He’d call it an experiment, although, even with his sparse science background, finding out just how many freckles someone had was probably not a valid scientific experiment. He’d need a, what was that? A hypothesis. So he’d make a guess, and then they could bet on whether Boris was over or under.

Boris’ hand splayed across the clothed chest, his thumb finding a nipple through the thin fabric.

“Can I?” Valery’s voice was small as he fingered the buttons on Boris’ dress shirt. If he didn’t stop fiddling with them, they would likely come off and then Boris would have to sew them back on again. His mother, rest her soul, would be so disappointed that he hadn’t found thread that matched the buttons better.

“Yes,” he murmured.

The shirt came slowly unbuttoned, discarded at the end of the couch. Valery ran his hands down Boris’ arms firmly and slowly.

“You’re shaking, Valery. Do I frighten you? Does it help if I tell you you’re the first man I’ve had notions about?” Boris drew him back in. He kissed him, slowly, the way Valery wanted it, rewarded as Valery pressed into him, opening his mouth, a swipe of his tongue inviting Boris in. He could hazard a guess at Valery’s experience level, but even so, there was an instinct he was finally caving to. Valery shifted in his lap, his hips moving forward, hesitantly. Boris moved his mouth to Valery’s pretty neck where his pulse fluttered, down to that lovely little divot above his breastbone, sucking lightly until he heard a startled gasp, which melted into a moan as he sucked harder, enough to leave a mark.

“Please, Boris, before I change my mind.” Valery’s voice was rough, nearly cracking, Boris’ cock responding. God he was hard, harder than a man his age had any right to be. This pasty bookish man was going to drive him absolutely mad.

The undershirt came off, Boris running his hands down Valery’s sides, that heartbeat again, beating like a caged bird against Valery’s ribs.

“I want you…” Valery stood, unsteadily, taking Boris’ hand and making a short jerk of his head towards the back room. Boris paused, looking intently at Valery. Fooling around on this couch like a couple of horny teenagers was one thing. He’d have to ask Valery where he’d gotten it. Probably by the side of the road. He studied Valery’s face, that face he’d been so irritated with, so long ago.

“It will change things, Valera.”

“I know.”

“And you don’t…”

Valery huffed in frustration. “We both should have died. I don’t much care how things will change.”

Boris curled his fingers into Valery’s, letting himself be led to the bedroom, the floor cluttered with stacks of books, a rumpled suit and tie tossed across the back of one chair. Valery shooed the cat off the foot of the bed.

Valery seemed to shrink, looking away, shy again. Boris sighed. How to draw him back out? Whatever it took, how long it took, pulling him in, kissing him again, although if Boris had his way, Valery would be naked and facedown and-

No, it would be good this way too, for both of them. He guided the scientist back to the bed, laying him down carefully, Boris kneeling over him, aware entirely of the affect it would have on Valery. And he knew exactly how to get this man to bloom.

\- - -

Valery looked up. There were no words for what Boris was, none that fully encompassed the restrained power rolling off him like a heat wave.

It was too much. He closed his eyes, letting Boris pull his glasses off and push his arms up, one hand finding the headboard. Valery was thankful for small mercies, Boris continuing his work without asking Valery to look at him.

“The first time I saw you, I thought,” Boris said, hands mapping Valery’s chest, down his sides to the waistband. “Another bookworm who doesn’t know how the world works.”

“I didn’t,” Valery responded. “Of which you were quick to correct,” his slight laugh turning into an urgent sigh as his belt was undone, pants and undergarments removed.

He could see it in his mind, how it could have been, fumbling, inarticulate, needy, finding some disused room, unbugged, struggling to stay quiet nonetheless. Boris backing him up against a wall, their bodies hurting for touch, their lives rushing towards inevitability, fingers roughly pulling clothes down and away, hushed and desperate encouragement, that terrible need, release temporarily transporting them away, away from that awful place before the tragedy of their situation came crashing back into focus.

Thank whatever divine force had spared them. They had time now.

Boris’ hands skimmed over Valery’s thighs, briefly skirting his cock, hard and sensitive, before coming to rest on his midsection. Involuntarily, he drew in on himself.

“Don’t do that,” Boris rumbled in his ear. Valery felt the bed shift, his eyes still clenched shut. Lips touched his, then his cheek, his chin, a tongue pressed into the cleft. A hand tilted his head back, Boris exploring the contours of Valery’s jaw, neck, down to his shoulder.

“But-”

“Look at me, Valera.”

He opened one eye tentatively. Boris was completely naked, settled next to him, taking one of his hands and guiding it down.

“Feel that? That’s what you do to me.” He let out a low gasp as Valery’s fingers encircled him, _oh God my hands are on his cock,_ Boris’ eyes closing as Valery tightened his grip, the skin silky, wetness at the tip. Valery rolled onto his side, facing Boris to get better leverage.

Boris drew in a ragged breath.

“Do…do you like that?”

Boris nodded. “It’s good. Feels good. I’m so hard for you, Valery.”

“I can see that,” Valery murmured, his own erection unfortunately pressing into Boris’ thigh. He wanted desperately to grind into Boris, but he also needed room to do whatever it was he was doing.

“Feels so good, you touching me.” Boris’ face was flushed, his eyes pinched shut. “More.” Valery complied, his hand moving faster, the way he liked it when he was alone, hoping it was what Boris liked, Valery curling into Boris’ bulk.

It was not what Valery felt to be an appropriate moment for his mind to drift there, but here he was, contemplating the nature of time. Of all the universes that existed. The one here, just the two of them, this small precious bubble. Boris was breathing like a sprinter, hot in Valery’s hair, fingers digging into Valery’s hip. He kept at it, wanting, needing to get Boris off, the thought making him dizzy. He wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted something so badly, tugging, working, Boris shuddering under his touch.

“Valery, I’m going to-” Boris went rigid, his voice splintering as he came onto Valery’s thigh, muffling a groan into Valery. He took his hand away, reaching for something to clean up. Valery was still hard, exquisitely so, but he would probably need to take care of it himself-

Boris was pushing him over so Valery’s back was flush against Boris’ chest.

“What, you thought I’d just roll over and go to sleep? Do you think I was raised in a barn?” Boris murmured. His hand reached over Valery’s hip, finding his cock, Valery tensing all over. “Shhhh. Relax. Let me take care of you.” Valery closed his eyes again, their small space safe from anything else, gasping and sighing as Boris gripped him, touched him, whispering in his ear.

“Yes, there, you’re doing so well,” Boris said, his voice low and heated, his teeth scraping along the tender spot where Valery’s neck met shoulder, Valery gasping and crying out.

“Again,” he said, surprised at himself, getting lost in the sensations, Boris’ heat against his back, large fingers grasping and palming his prick. Boris leaned up, sucking and biting gently, then slightly harder, the feeling of teeth on skin shooting straight down Valery’s spine. 

He was at the edge, teetering on it like a drunkard, one little push the only thing he would need to go completely over.

“Valera?”

“Y-yes, I’m,” Valery gave a choked sob as Boris tugged on his earlobe with his teeth.

“That’s it, go on, I want to see you come.” Boris’ grip twisted against him, the push he needed, Valery bucking up into Boris’ hand as he went flying over, coming hard, gasping and shivering as he finished, spending and spending and spending.

He hadn’t felt, hadn’t had something like that for a long time.

“Thank you, Borya,” he said, vaguely aware of Boris cleaning up after them before pulling Valery back in.

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

\- - -

Boris was the first to wake, eyes opening to take in the cramped bedroom, Valery on his side, facing him. He couldn’t tell, but he thought it was still snowing outside. He inspected his bedmate, Valery’s face gentle in its relaxed state. Boris didn’t think he’d ever seen Valery’s face not carrying around all of his thoughts and worries. Without the glasses, he could see every reddish eyelash. Valery was, perhaps unconventional, but he was handsome, or he would be if he wasn’t frowning all the time.

He spotted a light bruise on Valery’s neck, another on the shoulder. He’d need to be a little more gentle, though he couldn’t help how wildly turned on he was by Valery.

Boris eased himself out of his side of the bed, Valery mumbling something and rolling over. His back hurt. Figured that Valery would sleep on the most uncomfortable mattress, to go with the ugliest couch and the cheapest tv. Looking around, it appeared that the majority of his money was going to books, bookshelves overflowing on every shelf.

“Can’t sleep on books, Valera,” Boris said to himself, locating his underthings and trousers, praying that Valery would at least have decent coffee. He paused at the door, eyeing Valery’s bare shoulders and mussed up hair. Coffee. Then back to bed.

Boris was an intensely practical man, very little time spared for the fanciful or fantastical. It was why he kept scoffing at Valery’s bizarre multiple universe story. Still, he thought as he dug around, finding a half-full bag of grounds and an ancient French press, this man had awakened such strange feelings in him. “Matters of the heart,” his mother would have said.

If what Valery said was true, then in countless universes, both of them had died. Badly. The kettle was set to boiling.

Didn’t he owe it to all those other Borises and Valerys to make something, anything of this blessing? He wasn’t sure he could say what he felt. But he thought Valery would understand anyway.

The coffee was very bad. Boris added it to the mental list of things that would need replacing.

\- - -

Valery rolled over, reaching a hand out, finding the other side of the bed empty. Boris had left. He shouldn’t be surprised. Would they go back to how it was, Boris showing up next week with wine and a book? Pretend it hadn’t happened until one of them felt the need. Shame washed over him. Valery had no wish to live like that. Would he do that? He thought he’d been clear with Boris, but he was not so good at even thinking about whatever there was between them.

The smell of coffee reached him, Valery frowning. He looked up, Boris coming into the room with two mugs, holding one out for Valery. Boris’ brow pinched with worry, reading Valery’s puzzled expression. 

“Did you think I left? Valery. How little faith you have in me.” He got back into the bed.

“I thought maybe the snow had let up.”

“It hasn’t, which means you’re stuck with me for the time being.”

Valery smiled weakly, taking a sip.

“Besides. Last night was…” Boris paused until Valery looked up. Boris had set his mug aside. He smirked. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Valery let out a noise of surprise, higher than he intended as Boris threw the blankets off, moving over Valery again. A knee pressed his thighs apart, Valery shivering, his prick responding before he could say anything.

“May I?” Boris asked, leaning up to kiss Valery, hard. He kissed down the side of Valery’s neck, careful of where he’d been a little rough the night before.

“Yes,” Valery squeaked out, Boris traversing the lengths of his body, his mouth grazing one nipple, then the other, before settling down towards the end of the bed, his lips on, _oh God._

Valery set the mug down, a little harder than he intended, afraid he was going to spill it all over himself as Boris took him deep, his hips squirming up to try and meet him. Boris’ mouth was working such tormented pleasure on him. The sight alone of Boris’ thin lips wrapped around him, that wicked tongue teasing at the crown was just about enough to cause that tightly coiled heat in his belly to overwhelm him entirely. He let his head fall back as he felt his breath stutter and labor, the room quiet except for his whimpers and soft obscene wet sounds.

“That’s it, Valera, just stop thinking for one minute and let me help you,” Boris ordered. “Mine, Valery. Mine.”

Valery was nearly there, shuddering with need, his core hot and tight, fisting the sheets, hearing Boris say “mine,” before taking him deep again, a hand tugging on his balls.

“Fuck!” Valery swore loudly, coming, Boris taking in everything as his body arched up involuntarily before sagging back into the bed.

“Can’t move very well,” he sighed out, his legs leaden as his softening cock slipped out of Boris’ mouth.

“Good?”

“Can’t, mmm, can’t talk very well either.”

“You stay in bed, then. I’m going out for provisions. Your coffee is fucking terrible.”

Valery had risen and washed and dressed by the time Boris had returned. 

“Coffee. And staples.” Boris held up a bag. His face was red from the chill, his coat cold and dusted with snow as Valery helped him out of it.

Lunch was served, Valery focusing intently on his sandwich.

“What is it? You haven’t said five words since I got back.”

“Boris, I…” Valery shook his head. “When you go. I don’t want this to be just…no. That’s not it.” He stood, his fingers knotting.

“I’m not particularly good at this part,” he said finally. Boris looked concerned, tilting his head slightly.

“Are you asking me to leave?”

“No! No. Not at all. No, Boris.”

Boris also stood, coming over to Valery.

“Why don’t you explain it using your wild theory?”

“It’s not wild, Boris, but all right.” He looked down, focusing on his fingers. “There’s a universe where this happens. This thing, between us. And in that universe, you leave. And then we never speak of it.” He sighed, looking up at Boris. “I don’t want that to be this universe.”

Boris paused for a beat. An eternity. The beginning and ending of several universes.

Then.

Then Valery was in Boris’ arms. He buried his face in Boris’ shirt, inhaling him, nestling into the crook of Boris’ neck. He felt Boris sigh. Boris had wanted to know what mattered. It was this. Only this.

“Is this the universe where we get you a different couch?” Boris asked.

“We?”

“Good God, Valery, you are being deliberately obtuse. We.”

Valery felt his head swim. He was not going to cry. He was not. He drew in one long, slow breath.

Of all the choices, the chances, the luck, the late nights wondering what could have been, what was still to be. This world, and every other one, winking out along the horizon.

In this one, it was enough. In this one, there was time.

**Author's Note:**

> If you are a theoretical physicist, my deepest apologies. I nearly failed high school physics. The “science” is based on 1)something someone tried to explain to me at a college party many many years ago and 2)Michael Crichton’s Timeline, neither of which is probably based in actual science.
> 
> Come find me on twitter, kiingbooooo (two i's), but be warned, it's 90% trash tweets.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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